Sage Advice from an Elder Cousin

While gazing out the kitchen window this morning, waiting for our trusty Monsieur Café to crank out my liquid breakfast, I noticed my nephew digging a hole in the backyard. Not a small hole with a sand toy, but a large, let’s put a shrub right here hole in the middle of the lawn.

And he was not digging at a casual pace, either. He was going to town like a ski patrol team would attack impacted snow trying to save a snowboarder from a recent avalanche. Dirt was flying in every direction and his jaw was set in clenched determination.

Somewhat perplexed, I walked to the patio door to see my daughter and other nephew on the berm, each with their own full-size shovel digging yet a bigger hole.

Don’t misunderstand: I expect my backyard to be a place where children run and play and trample the grass. It is the reason I brought the Dandelion Slayer to our house in the first place, to rid the lawn of the sticker weeds so little ones could run barefoot without getting splinters between their toes. Now with this danger eliminated, I do not want it replaced with tiger pits.

“What the HELL are you doing?” I yelled to all three manual laborers, as if any answer they gave me would make sense of this scenario at half-past ten on a warm and sunny Friday morning. Jordan started to yell back in response, thought the better of it, and proceeded to walk back toward the deck.

“We’re digging up a memory box we buried a few summers ago,” Jordan explained. “We put it under the berm next to the tree.”

“Okay, that explains your hole,” I said, starting to rub my forehead and temples in preparation for the next round of questioning. “So what the hell is Anthony doing on the other side of the yard?”

“Oh, well, the box is pretty small and we didn’t need three big shovels in one spot, so Anthony decided to dig in a different spot to look for dinosaur bones,” Jordan explained. “We didn’t think you’d mind.”

Count to ten, laugh, count to twenty, rub my forehead and open my eyes. “Put the dirt back in the holes, put the shovels back in the garage, and go inside and wash your hands. We’re going to Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up breakfast.” I immediately grabbed a cup of coffee and two Tylenol.

Sharp parents will notice the key distraction element used to diffuse what would have led to a ditch-digging argument: Dunkin’ Donuts. Had I just said fill the holes and go inside, there would have been a long, painful discussion why hole digging is unsafe, why don’t I ever let them have fun, what if someone else takes their box now that they know where the secret place is, etc.

This is not my proudest parenting moment, but considering the whole event took place prior to my first cup of coffee, I have decided to give myself a conditional pass.

On our way home from the donut pickup, my nephews started to bicker in the backseat. As they are thirteen and ten, I just view this activity as part of their daily job. “You’re bullying me!” “You never shut up!” “I would shut up if you would listen!” “You’re ruining my life!” “You have no life!”

I was just about to ask them to stop fighting and be nice to each other when Jordan, in her most preachy tone, launched into the following monologue from her front seat pulpit (I swear this is as verbatim as I can recall): “Boys, all you have done since you came over yesterday is fight, fight, fight, and I am SICK of it! I have a little brother and we fight all the time. But I know when we fight too long I go away to my room and calm down until I’m ready to be nice again. Mom and Dad taught me how to handle this and it really works. So both of you need to say you’re sorry, give each other a hug, and SHUT UP!”

In a semi-proud parenting moment, I’m thrilled that Jordan has been listening to my advice. I’m even more impressed that she took it a step further and offered the same advice to her cousins. Now if I could only get her to FOLLOW the actual advice she is repeating to everyone, we’ll be on a great track.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some holes in the yard I need to refill with Dr. Jordan and my landscaping team.